EMMA'S POV
Morning arrived quietly, as if the city itself had learned not to intrude on the fragile peace Emma had finally claimed. The light crept in through the wide windows of the apartment, pale and deliberate, illuminating the clean lines of the space she was beginning to recognize as home—not a refuge, not a hiding place, but a starting point.
She woke before Damian this time.
That alone felt like progress.
She lay still for a moment, listening. His breathing was steady beside her, deep and unguarded in a way that still surprised her. For someone who controlled entire industries with a word, sleep was the only place he ever fully surrendered. It made him look younger, less carved from strategy and certainty.
Emma turned onto her side and studied him. The familiar urge to catalog details—jawline, lashes, the faint crease between his brows—had softened into something gentler. She wasn't memorizing him anymore out of fear of loss. She was simply being with him.
